


There's Always An After

by hariboo



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hariboo/pseuds/hariboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quorra spends a lot of time in what's supposed to be Sam's (Flynn's old) office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Always An After

**Author's Note:**

> Advent gift fic.

_Man is never perfect, nor contended._ Quorra read that once. Jules Verne. It was one of her favourite quotes.

Flynn called her — ISOs — perfect.

Maybe in the Grid she was.

She's not in the Grid anymore.

She's not sure what that means, for her, for who and what she now is. But she figures that quote is not the worst place to start.

 

-

 

 

Sam tells her she stares, she tells him, "How else am I suppose to understand?" He sighs.

Alan tells her she stares, she tells him, "I think I know you." His brow furrows.

Flynn used to tell her she stared, she used to tell him he did too. He used to grin.

 

 

-

 

 

Now that Sam is more interested in his father's company it means Quorra spends a lot of time in what's supposed to be Sam's (Flynn's old) office. The design is familiar. Flynn had an office on the Grid. He never stepped foot in it. It was the most Un-Grid like room in the mountain. What remains of the real Bit is probably still there. Quorra still feels guilty — yes, guilt, that's the right emotion? Sadness + responsibility. Yes, guilt. — over what happened to Bit. She had loved (affection + care) him too.

Quorra spend a lot of time in the office. Sam doesn't. Alan says he's just like his dad. Quorra is inclined to agree.

She spends her time on the computer — so basic in comparison to what she knows; what's she's made of, but now she's made of skin and bone; blood and marrow. She doesn't know if that was Flynn last gift to her as Creator or it's her own strange code make up that allows her to have a body. There are books, oh there are so many book in this world, and some speak of spells and witches and girls growing limbs. She wonders if the Light of Creator was Flynn's own special spell. She has to read more books, and while she can access on the digital tablets she likes the feel of paper under her skin. Her entire life was digital, even the pages of Flynn's books back home where digital, so to know and touch _an organic reality_ is more than a dream. — writing and rewriting code. She's trying to make something more than code. Digital Jazz, digital life.

Alan looks over her code once and his lips quirk. She asks him why he's smiling.

"He really taught you well."

Quorra looks at the code. In it she sees: life, love, beauty, pain, algorithmic systems, Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 7, quantum physics, happiness, joy, #00CED1, sadness, Jules Verne, _i'm stepping through the door and floating in the most peculiar way_ , Bit, the Purge, _it is a great misfortune to be alone, my friends._ ; she see Flynn.

"Thank you," she replies, happy he can see Flynn too.

"It's been a long time since I've seen someone write code like that; reminds me of the good old days."

Quorra smiles, and suddenly realises: "You were Tron."

Something in Alan's face shifts. "No, not me."

"But the original, it was you— Your program."

Alan nods. "A long time ago."

"Yes," she agrees, taking note of the lines around Alan's eyes. She was with Flynn for a long time. Each cycle the lines in his face would get deeper. She only had one program upgrade in the 20 cycles they spend together, her body shifting from that of what they would call here a pre-teen to her current state. She does not know how her body will age in this world. She is organic now. She imagines ageing will be organic too.

"May I ask you something, Alan?"

He nods, sitting across form her. The desk was Flynn, is Sam's, and she's the only to use it. Maybe that makes sense. It feels like it does.

"Flynn used to tell me stories. Tron had a partner, Yori."

Alan's face softens, his finger rub over a ring on his left hand. "Lori, ahem, Lora, my wife."

"I never met her. Flynn believed she was caught in the Purge, a sympathiser. He never saw her again, but hoped she lived."

"That would be nice."

"Does…" Quorra trails off. Sam has told her some of her questions come off as insensitive and abrasive.

Alan seems to understand. "Retired a few years ago."

Quorra smiles; perhaps Yori lived after all, "I would liked to meet her one day."

"Oh, she'd get a kick out of you."

"Is that a good thing?" Quorra asks, face working. Some of the slang of this world still confuses her.

Alan laughs, "Yes, it's a good thing." She thinks Flynn would have liked to hear his friend laugh once more. Quorra smiles for him.

 

 

-

 

 

No program is ever truly derezzed. Quorra knows this. The program is broken down to the smaller of bytes, ripped apart and assimilated into the Grid once more. Flynn hadn't been a program. He'd been a user, but Clu had been a program. He's been part of Flynn too.

Sam doesn't like to go back to the arcade, though he opened it again, but when he does he stays in the top office, programming himself, running the company with Alan from the warehouse and the RND labs. Quorra goes back down to the basement all the time. She always makes sure the machine is unplugged but works at the computer tirelessly. Hope is something Flynn taught her.

She searches. The Grid is still there, the code already so different to her eyes. She sees: light cycles running down the streets, Clu's system dismantling, new programs growing, old programming thriving, She sees: hope.

Traces of Clu remain of course, no program ever completely derezzes. But traces of Flynn are thriving now in ways they hadn't been before.

She spends days working in that tiny basement room until…

It's not what she meant to find, but. It's still hope.

 

 

-

 

 

Lora Baines-Bradley smiles at her and offers her tea. Quorra prefers it to coffee. She's still having some issue with the texture of some of things this body requires for sustenance, but Sam is helpful and calls her a Smoothie-tarian. But she eats cereal too, and soup. Bread if it's dunked in the soup. Fish is growing on her, the thin salmon slices Sam gets her with his sushi are becoming a favourite. As are some fruits. Flynn made "food" in the Grid to remind him of home, but some of her favourites taste so different here. So… organic.

"Thank you," Quorra says, taking the tea cup. "It smells nice." It does.

Lora's face is also marked with the gentle lines of age. She sends a warm look to Sam, "So, how did you two meet?"

Alan coughs into his coffee.

Sam flushes and swallows hard.

Quorra takes a sip of the tea. Oh, mango and cinnamon!

"Okay, what am I missing here?" Lora asks, one brow raising.

Quorra looks between Sam and Alan. She shakes her head, "I come from the Grid. Sam's dad raised me." Alan knows, Alan understands. Alan was Tron. She doesn't understand why his wife shouldn't know.

Sam rubs a hand over his face, "Oh man, _awesome_."

Alan just starts laughing.

"What? Kevin? Alan!" His wife hits him on the arm, "Stop laughing! Is anyone going to explain this? Samuel Flynn!"

 

 

-

 

 

Lora cups Quorra's face when they show her the machine, her eyes are wet, "I always knew that slacker would never leave us." She looks at Sam, who's eyes are looking a little misty too; Quorra knows better than to ask. "He did good."

Sam nods, "As best he could."

Quorra licks her lips. Something is burning inside her but the words don't come out. They're not ready yet.

 

 

-

 

 

Alan brings her a pen drive one day.

It's small, silver, sleek. It would look right at home back… home.

She blinks up at him, studies his face.

He touches her shoulder and walks away without saying a word.

Quorra understands.

She cradles the drive in her hand. _Tron_. The original code.

 

 

-

 

 

She tells Sam she's taking the bike to the arcade. He nods, by now he trusts her by herself. She leans and kisses his cheek before leaving the waterfront warehouse.

The arcade is dark when she arrives. It reminds her of her first night in this world. The air is fresh, rain is coming soon. Quorra smiles.

In the basement she plugs in the pen drive and runs the program. It's old, needs some of the new code, but the core, the soul, is there. She spends the night working, the rain taps against the small basement window. Sam calls her once on her cellphone and she tells him she'll be late. She thinks she can hear his smile over the phone as he whispers good night.

As the sun glints across the window, Quorra leans back. She's done.

The Enter key shines up at her. She doesn't even hesitant as she taps it.

`System.Diagnostics.Process.Start  
shell.run("c:\\tron3.exe")`

`$whoami`  
tron  
$

`@directive:`

Quorra takes a breath, closes her eyes. Her eyes don't need to look at the keys to know what she types.

`@directive: FIND FLYNN.`

APATURE CLEAR?

Quorra presses the Y key.

 

 

-

 

 

Something in the Grid flashes back to life.


End file.
